


splash

by cookiethewriter



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: (yet? -thinking face-), .......i am v removed from this ship DO NOT JUDGE ME, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Kiss, Knotting, MOX WEARS A CONDOM OKAY, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rehabilitation, Smut, THERE WILL BE NO ROMOX BABIES., THIS IS ROMOX, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, but completely necessary for poor jonathan moxley, dirty talk kinda?, kind of, the baylor is background, they are the only solace i will give him lmao, think ... animal shelter but for people/omegas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2020-12-21 13:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethewriter/pseuds/cookiethewriter
Summary: "In a splash, that was how you came into my life, in the blink of an eye, suddenly and unexpected."or, alpha jon moxley finds himself drowning when he meets omega roman reigns.[now complete!]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! guess who decided to jump back into the ship they started? ME LMAO. i'm kinda iffy about the title but when aren't i, amirite? (that being said, title subject to change)
> 
> like always, i hope you enjoy my return into my rarepair. c:

“I jus’ don’t understand why we gotta do this,” Jon Moxley groused as he walked the night-old rain soaked streets, the bottom of his jeans dragging and soaking subsequently. “Normal people rescue dogs or some shit. Yer’ the only one I know who’d wanna rescue some Omega.” 

From beside him, his former-roommate Callihan grins, an ugly thing that shows just how many times he’s been punched in the mouth. Not like he has room to talk - Moxley’s had a chipped tooth in the middle of his damn mouth since fifth grade, some crooked ones on top, so he’s hardly an authority on perfect teeth - but he doesn’t buy as many packs as he used when there were two paychecks coming in. It pays to be poor. 

(Fuck that.) 

“Ain’t it kinda the same thing? I ain’t lookin’ for a wife or nothin’, Mox. This is how I kill multiple birds with one stone, dude: mom naggin’ me to settle down? Omega. Feelin’ strung out and need a quick lay? Omega. House a mess and I’ve been pullin’ 50-hour weeks? Omega!” 

“You’ve said some shitty shit, Callihan, but--” 

“-right, because your moral compass is pointin’ any more north than mine, you piece’a shit.” 

That pulls a sharp laugh out of Moxley, fond in its own right, and conversation sort of dies down on his side for a while. Callihan pulls out a cigarette from its box in his jeans pocket, offers one to him which he takes but pockets instead, and takes a big puff of his own once he’s lit it. He continues speaking. “I dunno, man, it’s been on my mind for awhile. I know I’m just a Beta and won’t be able to get anybody but another Beta pregnant, but maybe a companion ain’t so bad. Don’t tell nobody, but I miss havin’ that, now that I’ve got all this space and shit.”

That makes Moxley pull a face; Sami Callihan was definitely more of a socialite than he was, he thrived at parties and in packed public spaces. He made conversation with almost everybody who ever crossed his path, had befriended their old landlord - well, Moxley’s current landlord - and it was something he’d secretly envied about him. Here he was, even with a person he was incredibly close with, shoulders hunched and body drawn tight like he’s preparing for an attack. He was such a dramatic opposite to Callihan, would rather drink in the back of a party and hang out with a dog or stare at the clock until it was over. Moxley would rather lock himself away in his apartment all day and sleep, go to work late at night, and come back and do it all again. Sometimes he ate in-between, sometimes he doesn’t. 

It _ did _ suck not having his friend living with him. He’d admit to that, but only if he was like, _ really _ drunk. 

The Omega Clinic was notorious for saving male and female Omegas from, more often than not, horribly-abusive Alphas. The pretty ones were once used for, more or less, breeding - making pretty children - and the less-pretty ones were probably for something closer to slavery. Such a foundation was important in a world where people did that to people in the first place, and although he _ was _ an Alpha who didn’t care one way or the other what people did, he _ had _ started out in a pretty ugly environment, so he can appreciate someplace providing sanctuary to people who need it. 

“Plus,” Callihan says as they walk up to the door. As he opens it, a bell tings above them that makes Moxley jump. “Adoption’s always cheaper.” 

Another laugh, then he follows Callihan inside. 

It’s a _ huge _ building set up sorta like an expensive apartment complex, which makes sense he guesses; it’s not like he was expecting something like an animal shelter, with Omegas in cages or something, so he understands more or less that there are living spaces for the ones that are here. Callihan walks with conviction to the front desk, but Moxley doesn’t pay attention to what’s being said, just looks around, taking in the clean carpets and seating area off to the side that’s just a step nicer than a hospital waiting room. 

He hears someone ask a question, and he ignores it. When Callihan smacks his arm, he looks at him with a glare, before he hears the person at the desk - receptionist? Cashier? What were they? - clear their throat. 

“Are you looking for somebody, too, mister…?” 

“Uh, Moxley. Jon Moxley - nah, I’m just--”

“Moral support,” Callihan says. 

WIth a prim “Hm!” fingers clack on the keyboard, and the person stands up and says, “Mr. Helmsley will be right with you.” 

It’s a good few minutes before the aforementioned Mr. Helmsley comes out to greet them, and immediately, Moxley’s met with this huge … _ Alpha _ presence. With a large hand, he shakes first Callihan’s and then his hand, and says with a big smile on his face. “Welcome, gentlemen, to my Omega Rescue facility! I’m Hunter Helmsley.” 

“Hah, ah, I’m Sami Callihan, yer’ Alphaness-- wait, that sounds dumb, uh-” 

Moxley rolls his eyes - he’s a lot of talk, his friend, but he _ was _ still a Beta. The only reason he didn’t act that way with _ him _ , also an Alpha, was because he was raised by Betas and Omegas so he didn’t really _ act _ like most Alphas did. He was the only Alpha male in his family, which was weird, but then he’d never met the man who knocked his ol’ mother up. Alphas weren’t quite as feared and Omegas weren’t as oppressed as they used to be, but the latter _ was _ a marginalized part of society. Again, he doesn’t really _ care _ one way or the other, but it does rub him wrong to see someone being cruel to somebody who had once been taught to _ be _ treated like that. 

Mr. Helmsley just laughs. “Easy there, can I call you Sami?” Of course, Callihan nods. “There’s no need for any honorifics or the like. We’re all people here. You can call me Hunter.” 

Callihan, Moxley, and Hunter all walk through a set of double-doors into a tiled hallway not-unlike that of a clinic. It sets something off in Moxley, nightmares of sitting in a hospital bed with bruises and broken bones his family for that month didn’t want to explain, and he hunches himself over inside his hooded sweatshirt. The sound of the bottom of his jeans, soiled with old rain and mud, fills the halls. 

“So, I know we talked on the phone about it briefly, but was there anybody you were looking for in particular?”

“Just a companion, man.” It wasn’t a lie. Moxley knew that. But it wasn’t the full truth either. “I bought a house months back and everything’s great, but I heard about this place from a friend of a friend, and I really like the work ya’ do, man.” 

It would really put a damper on the whole meeting if Hunter saw the way Moxley rolled his eyes, so he did his best to do it out of everyone’s periphery. He led the two up the stairs, and as they get closer to the top, Moxley can see a set of double doors that match the ones downstairs. When they walk through, he’s hit with the scent of _ Omega _ and it takes his fucking _ breath away _.

He’d never really been affected by it much, but he supposes it’s because there’s so many in one space. He’s got half a mind to wait in the hall, or to dangle an unlit cigarette from his lips so he can at least try to focus on something else, but to no avail. There’s a big ‘NO SMOKING’ sign right in front of the door, and he’ll be damned if he fucks this up for Callihan, so he’ll pretend that one of these Omegas isn’t fucking driving him crazy. 

“I… saw there’s ‘nother floor,” it’s hard to talk, a little bit, and Hunter looks at him with sympathy. “What’s up there?” 

“That’s the roof, which has a beautiful flower garden. You’re welcome to head up there if you need some air, Jon.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

* * *

It’s easy to breathe up here for about twenty minutes, at least; the roof was flat all the way across, with multiple pallet gardens stretching through the middle, creating a path so people could walk through it and admire anything that was growing there. On the other side is a bunch of comfortable patio furniture, where he finds himself the most comfortable. The scent doesn’t reach him past the flowers, which means all he’s left with is the smell of city humidity and fresh flowers, and he wonders if that’s any better. It’s not quite so pungent, anyway. 

Well, at least for those twenty minutes. After that, he’s capital-S Suffering. 

The smell is heady, thick, and he can tell there’s a lot of stress underneath it. The rate at which it flies up the stairs, like it’s sprinting, makes him look up and glare at the door; how _ dare _ they interrupt what was shaping up to be the calmest stretch of the shortest amount of time alone he’d ever had? Omega or not, he’s putting out fuckin’ _ waves _ here, ‘Do Not Disturb’, ‘Leave Me The _ Fuck _ Alone’, and he’s got half a mind to get up and make a fucking _ scene _ in front of the flowers before the door swings open and slams against its hinges, and he stops. 

The man that walks through is _ huge _, maybe an inch taller than he was, and has long hair that he can’t tell if it’s black or the darkest brown he’s ever seen. He swears he sees some color there, when the sun hits him just right, but he’s not exactly a good judge of anything; he’s wearing a fitted tee shirt and a pair of jeans, a thick watch around his also-thick wrist; on his right arm is a tattoo that looks important, tribal. 

He’s … fucking _b__eautiful _ . Worse, still, is that _ he’s the Omega _ that took his breath away. Hot _ damn _. 

His hands - they’re so fucking _ huge _ \- sweep through his hair, pulling, and his eyes look wild and fearful. Moxley stares at him for a good while, watching the way he seems to go through every stage of panic attack before he paces over to the other wall, clutching onto the cement half-wall. He’s giving off very similar waves to Moxley, stronger, ‘Don’t Touch Me’, and if he weren’t currently going absolutely mad with … something … he might challenge that feeling. 

He doesn’t get the chance. 

“Roman, if you would just li--” 

“Why, so you can sell me off too?” his voice is _ crazy _ deep, and it does a lot of things to a very specific, very southern, part of Moxley’s anatomy. “Look, Helmsley, the work you do here, saving Omegas, is _ great. _ Selling ‘em like they’re dogs who need a new home? What the fuck?” 

Hunter - visibly disheveled, dots of crimson dotting his left nostril, _ holy hell this guy punched him _ \- reaches a hand out, in comfort, but Moxley can feel the waves deepen, ‘Don’t. Touch. Me’ and if he were a different man, he might intervene. “I understand why you’d think that, Roman, but I assure you. This is a rehabilitation center. None of you are ‘for sale’.” 

“So that _ Alpha _ -” said with such disgust, such … _ fear _, “-wasn’t just braggin’ about how he just bought himself a sweet piece of Omega pussy a few minutes ago?” 

“Such crude language, Roman,” is all Hunter says. Something about his pointed disinterest in what Roman said rubs Moxley the wrong way. Just what kind of business _ was _this? Not his cup of tea, he knew that, but was there more? “No one is making you stay. I only saved your life from being used as another Alpha’s baby-machine--”

There’s a roaring in his head, an intense tug at his chest, and he has _ got _ to get the _ hell _ off this roof. 

He sticks to the edge, sneaking up and clinging to the wall, hastily moving with his head down. The conversation he’s trying to ignore stays heated, stays driving his Alpha instincts absolutely _ crazy _ as they yearn to protect a troubled Omega. His interference would _ not _ be needed nor wanted, truth be told, by any of the three men on this roof. Besides, he’s sure Callihan’s looking for him. Or not. Who cares.

His hand shakes as he grabs the door’s handle and he opens it, the energies shooting toward him, gripping him and making him shudder, and it only becomes worse when…

_ Slap! _

...a ringing in his ears feels like screaming, and his hand falls from the door as he looks over, neck slowly craning to the side in what could only be described as eerie dread. Sure enough, Hunter’s got his hand poised in the air, palm and fingers pink, and Roman’s got his face turned to the side, the left cheek already starting to color in what would probably be a bruise - Alphas were the strongest kind of person, it was fact, whether they were wearing a business suit or not. 

He’s moving before his brain can tell him not to. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” tumbles out in a rage-filled growl. “You got people seeking _ asylum _ and shit, and yer’ letting yer’ emotions get so outta control that you slapped the very same person you’re tryin’ to help? Are you absolutely bat-shit, outta your _ fuckin _\--” 

“Mox-- whoooa my god! Dude!” 

Callihan’s arms - yes, _ both of them _ \- are wrapped around his right arm, bent at the elbow and fist poised for a pretty place on Hunter’s cheek, and it’s about the only thing that brings his temper down. It’s only until he sees, over Hunter’s shoulder, Roman’s eyes wide and glossy, aimed at him, that he (slooooowly) unfists the front of Hunter’s shirt and jacket and lowers his arm. He’s got daggers in his eyes and claws for fingers, though, ready to attack. 

The rooftop is the quietest place he’s ever been in, so quiet that it feels louder than anything he’s heard in his life. It’s Hunter that breaks the quiet first, and it’s in a voice that makes even Mox flinch, despite it’s softness. “I never want to see the three of you anywhere _ near _ this place. Ever. _ Again _.”

Roman hisses through his teeth, visibly upset, and pushes his way through Hunter’s shoulder. He barely bats an eye. 

Callihan is pulling on his arm, trying to get him to follow toward the door, but the daggers in his eyes are aimed at Hunter, claws ready to tear his jugular apart. While Hunter simply stares back, unrelenting, intense, Moxley allows himself to be pulled toward the door and out of the Clinic. 

* * *

“Dude, what the hell was that about?” Callihan nearly throws his arm away from his person, which gives Moxley the propulsion to start manically pacing up and down the sidewalk. “I’m tryin’ to find an Omega in that mess hall, and the next thing I know, you’ve got the owner of that place by this shirt and you’re about to fuckin’ hit him! Moxley, what the _ fuck _ did you do?!”

“Yeah, ‘cause everything’s _ my _ fault!” he’s yelling, and he’s got no reservations about it. “You should’a heard the shit he was sayin’ to Roman, man, he was bein’--”

“Wait, Roman? That guy, right? Why can’t ya just leave two Alphas to duke it out and get the hell outta dodge like ya usually do?!” 

Moxley’s body trembles; Callihan didn’t have the ability to tell what someone was, on account of being pretty heavily abused when he lived at home. “Nah, man, you don’t _ get it _ . Hunter ‘n I were the only Alphas on that rooftop. Roman’s a fuckin’ Omega, and Hun’er fuckin’ slapped him ‘n I just _ reacted _ !” He probably screwed up any chance Callihan would have of ever going there again, and while he’s sure he doesn’t feel _ that _ bad about it now that he knows what kinda guy is running things at this so-called ‘rescue’, there’s a small side that feels guilty, too. 

He just had to go and screw things up. Again.

“Dude, since when d’ya care about what an Alpha does with an Omega?” 

“I don’t!”

“Oh, just _ that one _ , right? Mox, you have _ never _, since I’ve known you, called an Omega by their name. Ya realize that?” 

That stops the next words from falling out of his mouth; he won’t admit that Callihan has a point, has got one up on him, because it’s true. He’d slept with Betas and fewer Omegas various times, and they had told him their names, but he _ never _ repeated them. He didn’t-- can he even, after the rooftop, say he ‘doesn’t care’ with finality? It’s not something he’s willing to think on for much longer, since he knows he won’t see Rom-- that Omega, again. He’s got no reason to. With any luck, he’s got someplace he can lay low that’s got a roof over it, that way Moxley doesn’t _ ever _ have to run into him again. 

Moxley hadn’t ever had the best luck, but who’s to say things couldn’t turn around, right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, funny story - i completely forgot i posted the first chapter of it already. so i forgot i had somewhat of an obligation (to myself, mostly). and since i wanna get back in the habit of writing and posting regularly (this is mainly practice with both, as i have other projects i want to see started and finished soon enough ;D) i figured i should ya know. get back to it. i have more ideas for original works than fanfic, and it all starts with.....  
-drum roll-

The rooftop incident was in August. 

Today, it’s February.

And so far, Moxley had been sure to avoid the Clinic’s part of town, rerouting if he needed to get somewhere on the other side. It wasn't a big nuisance anyway, avoiding it; it was a nicer, cleaner part of town - a part that doesn't have a place for a guy like him. But it was less because someone told him to and more because if he saw Hunter again, he’s pretty sure he’ll be tempted to finish what he started months before. 

It was, for mated pairs but Omegas specifically, heat season. He hadn’t ever been with an Omega in heat, which was a relief, considering that’s the time when fucking one led to something he’d never want to push on anyone in his entire life: pregnancy. He had never wanted a family, had a fucked-up one already, and maybe it was a less-selfish part of him that avoided going out as much as he could in the first few months of a new year. 

(He’d never want what’s wrong with him pushed on anybody else. He’s too fucked up, and he’s not upset over it, but he won’t put it on something as vulnerable as a kid.)

Someone who has really gone out of their way to avoid _ him _ , however, is Callihan, which sucks. He doesn’t think he’s mad at him, necessarily, but he hasn’t returned any of his texts with more than one or two-word responses. Every chance he’s made - _ he _ , Moxley, the guy who doesn’t like to socialize - to interact, to invite him over or out or just to chat on the phone, he’s either ignored or declined. Moxley can’t help but to think he’s the one to blame over it, but he can’t see _ how _. 

What he did … that was the right thing to do, right? Not that he’d ever worried about that sorta thing before, but it’s only a big deal because Callihan didn’t get a stupid Omega. What was so great about them, anyway? 

...well, if he’s being honest, the presence of _ one _ made him go nuts and almost punch another, much bigger, Alpha right in the mouth. Maybe they messed with his head a little bit - all the more reason to abstain from them specifically and just stick to screwing Betas. 

But that’s the _ thing _ . Since that day, he hadn’t felt the _ urge _ to fuck, hasn’t jerked off due to just plain indifference, and he’s sure that’s doing _ wonders _ for his dick. It’s not like he doesn’t want to, just that he can’t find something he wants to focus on. And the keyword there was ‘ _ wants _ ’, because he _ knows _ what his body wants to focus on. 

He won’t fuckin’ do it. 

He won’t get anywhere near that fucking Omega. 

Of course, he doesn’t have much of a choice when he decides to walk to the pharmacy to get some minor shopping done there. He doesn’t need much, just some first-aid shit, cigarettes, and a new electric razor; his beard was getting long, and his old razor had died after he shaved his hair down. His beard felt weird long, looked weirder, and he'd been putting off coming for a while, even if the pharmacy was a comfortable walk from his apartment even with the detour.

He goes in without a problem, gets what he needs and pays, and leaves. The girl behind the desk, a pretty Beta, greets him with the same old smile she greets everyone with, and it makes his chest hurt when he makes his mouth smile back. There’s a good few seconds where he doesn’t think things are wrong, because he knows that no Omega is out now, they’re inside a shelter or with their mates. It’s too dangerous, even in this day and age, for a heating Omega to be out if they aren’t using birth control or suppressants. 

Tickle him fucking _ fucked _ when he opens the door, takes a few steps away from the pharmacy and, as he steps in front of the alleyway between it and the next store over, he’s hit with that fucking scent again, distressed and heady, with this _ smog _ of unmated Omega, and he feels a very intense pull inside the narrow space. 

Leaning against the wall, legs pushed together so tightly it’s like they’re one, and panting hard into one of his hands as the other digs into his scalp … Roman. 

Moxley swears loudly, but it seems like he’s too deep in his heat to notice. He has two choices here: let Roman be, like his waves are putting out, and ignore the call of an Omega in heat out in the open, or… 

...pushing the plastic bag into the crook of his elbow, he hauls Roman off the ground with a hand in his armpit, saying shortly, “Up.” He’ll be _ damned _ if he leaves him out here to be attacked by some Alpha who’ll be much less gentle than he is, not that he thinks he’s being gentle really, but he knows what _ his kind _ is like, especially now. Roman follows his hand and bends over a bit, and as much as Moxley wants to just stand here and let him catch his breath or whatever the fuck, they have to go. 

“Dude, let’s fuckin’--”

“Waitaminute-” Roman’s voice is fucking _ wrecked _ and it’s making a whine catch in Moxley’s throat. 

“We don’t got a minute. Of all the fuckin’ days for me to not use my damn car…”

“I can’t walk.” 

“_ Fuck _.” 

His foster sister got like this too, when he still lived at home. As he was the only Alpha of any of his foster homes, he often lived out of a cheap motel until it was safe for him to go home, everything washed down and the house aired out. He never held it against them, it wasn’t their fault their biology was the way it was. 

“You need a hotel or somethin’? To ride this out?” 

Roman’s arm raises with a fist, and he readies himself for a punch, before the fist lands on the brick wall beside them, nails raking down the brick’s faces in anguish. “I… yeah. Yeah, please…”

“‘Kay. I can- do that.” _ Fuck _. It’s starting to affect him, too, making his dick twitch in his loose jeans, and he swears he’s going to jump into the coldest body of water he can get to when this is all over. “I’ll give ‘em a call.” 

“No, wait- I can. I can walk. Let’s go.” 

It’s a short stint between spells, and it takes them a while to get onto the sidewalk and even a couple feet from the pharmacy, but eventually Roman just bares down and straightens, even if Moxley can feel the waves of discomfort emanating from him. The further they go, the easier it is for Roman to move, so he figures he’s either ignoring it or it’s lessened in its intensity. Either way, he’s able to get him to the bus stop, where he sits to escape the sudden wind chill, and Moxley can give a call to the closest hotel. 

The phone rings a couple times. Somebody picks up, and Moxley immediately starts talking. “You got any rooms available?” 

The receptionist calmly tells him they don’t, they’re ‘all booked up’, and words don’t stop tumbling out of his mouth. 

“Listen, this Omega needs someplace safe t’ hunker down for a while. You gotta have a room, gotta have somewhere you can put 'em until this is over.” 

The receptionist brushes him off with a fake apology, tells him “_ We’d be happy to refer you to another hotel _” and that happens about three more times before he growls and punches the plexiglass window of the little lean-to. Roman’s got his legs crossed, is breathing through whatever spell hit him this time, and Moxley covers his nose so he can suck in a breath that doesn’t smell like a heating Omega. 

“All booked up. Everywhere.” 

Roman cracks open an eye, looks at him, and sighs. “Guess I’ll have to see if Hunter will ta--”

“_ Absolutely not. _” Moxley husks, low in his throat, and he brushes his long hair out of his face. Putting it back in a band, he looks Roman up and down. “Up. We’re goin’ to my apartment. I’ve got an extra room, ‘s yours.”

Roman opens his mouth to argue, because why should he accept? They met one other time, and all that happened then was Moxley, what, stepped into an altercation he shouldn’t have? But Roman listens, ultimately, stands up and lets Moxley lead him back onto the sidewalk toward his apartment complex.

Eventually, it’s easy for Roman to function again. The longer they walked to his complex, the easier it gets for him to move, talk, and it’s driving Moxley insane; he knew very little about Omegas during this time, had never really bothered to ask since he had decided a long time ago that it didn’t matter, that he wouldn’t knock up somebody, but now he’s wishing he did because his brain is supplying one thing and his dick is supplying something _ very _ different. It’s frustrating, it’s fucking stupid, and he wants to scream. 

But Roman’s just quiet, staying close to him, and he isn’t about to make any guesses as to why that hits him funny. 

The walk to his apartment isn’t much longer, and Roman has to lean on the wall while he gets his key out, and when he stands back up again, back ramrod straight, Moxley opens the door and almost pushes Roman inside, rougher than he’d meant but he’s the last person who would offer an apology after the shit today had dropped in his lap. And his _ lap _ , his stupid fucking Alpha _ cock _ was the betrayer to end all betrayers, standing almost at full-mast when he sees the way Roman’s walking with his thighs pushed tight together. 

“‘s broken,” Moxley rasps. Fuck the stupid elevator. Someone should really fix it, and at this rate, he’s _ fixing _ to do it him-fucking-self. “Stairs, two floors.” 

Roman nods, not saying anything to that, just sighs hard through his nose. He’s a real fuckin’ trooper, bearing down on this whole ordeal like it was nothing, and he’d find it an honorable trait if his own lust wasn’t beating on the inside of his head, begging him to take advantage, chomping at the bit to have Roman right now in the doorway to the fucking stairwell. He won’t. He’s been taken advantage of for most of his life, and he won’t become that kind of Alpha, the same kind who took advantage of his mother and cursed him with an identity known for doing that sort of shit to people like her, and Roman. 

It’s a hard trek up the stairs, his hand clutching Roman’s elbow almost to usher him up quicker. They get it done, though, make it up the stairs with no one’s self-worth tarnished by a selfish piece of shit, and Moxley almost dives for his door when it’s in view; his isn’t as small as other apartments in the area, a decent size for a two-bedroom, but he knows it’s too small for Roman by the way he looks around and doesn’t say anything. Dropping his bag of stuff on the end table by the door, he drags a hand down his face.

At least they’re off the street. That’s a big problem solved, considering his apartment probably reeked of Alpha stag. Another Alpha won’t come sniffing around if his scent is mingled in.

“It’s not much,” he says, walking ahead of Roman, who’s looking at the floor. “Go ‘head and take a load off. Yer’ safe here. Least from like, people who are gonna prey on ya. You got shit you want me to get, or-” Maybe he should text his sister and have her call him, walk him through what he needs to do, because he’s so fucking lost right now. He’d babysat a kid or two, sure, but a whole-ass, grown-ass, adult Omega? In _ heat _? He’s so fucked. 

“I live out of town, so all of _ my _ shit is there. It’s a ways.” He doesn’t look up. Moxley pretends to be indifferent as to why. “I don’t have anything.”

“Well, shit, man,” rubbing the back of his hair, scratching at his head with his bitten nails. “Like I said, make yaself at home. Yer’ door is the one on the right, go get comfortable. I can get ya some … um, stuff. Like, out. I don’t got much.” 

It looks like Roman wants to say something, as he looks at him and opens his mouth, but stops. Moxley rolls his eyes. “Say it.” 

“I know this sounds dumb to you, but what you’re doing is a huge help.” 

He doesn’t want to be _ doing _ this. Moxley really doesn’t. But it looks like Roman doesn’t want to be doing it either, and he’s not sure why he finds comfort in this. Heaving a sigh, he brushes his hair out of his eyes and levels Roman with a look of resignation. “Shit, I ain’t ever done this before. I don’t know what I’m doin’.”

This manages to pull a wry sort-of smile out of Roman. “If it makes you feel any better, me neither. It’s been a long time since I’ve endured a heat spell. I’ve either had heat suppressants or--” he cuts himself off, looks down and to the side, and it makes Moxley remember that rooftop encounter all over again, what Hunter had said…

“...or somebody takin’ advantage of ya.” 

He flinches. “Did you have to say it out loud?” 

“Look man, I ain’t interested in that shit. Even a scumbag has his limits.”

Roman opens his mouth, perhaps to argue, but Moxley raises a hand to stop him. “I’m gonna go pick up some pizza. Want anything?” 

It looks like there are a hundred things he wants to say, but Roman settles for, “No.”

“Fine. I’ll be right back.” 

It was a lousy excuse to leave, but he needed air, he needed a break, to figure out what the _ hell _ he had just gotten himself into. Maybe tomorrow, he could try giving his sister a call, see if he can talk to her lifemate about how to fucking _ deal _ with a heating Omega. Hopefully, his presence isn’t as required as it looks like right now, because he knows what happens when an unmated Omega in heat gets in the vicinity of a scumbag Alpha. He doesn’t want to be like the old man he never knew, but life was cruel, and he didn’t want to hurt anybody, despite how it seemed.

He’d have to see. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (lmao, suspense!)  
...i'm doing chrismuts again this year! i have so much fun doin it, though this year is gonna be different. the first time, i did ambreigns. last year, i did romox. this year, i'm doing a healthy balance of both fanfic and original work: roman/oc! if you've read 'of tea bags and carnations', it's with that oc, kat. she's my baby. to get a feel for kat and roman's chemistry as friends (and more) and kat in general, i suggest giving that a read first. you don't have to, but in case ya do. c: i'm really proud of it, so i hope you do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i think the target is every other week for this? gives me time to get more written, all the while having 2 other writing things i'm working on. the first is chrismuts, like i said, and the second thing is a surprise but won't be up until after the new year. i think it'll be worth the wait, though. (people in my discord will get a sneak peek before it goes up! so keep an eye out for that if you're part of that. c: )
> 
> anywho, enjoy this. next chapter's gonna be a hella good time. ;D

“_Well, first thing is first,_” his sister’s mate, Finn, says on the other side of the line. “_You’re goin’ta have to call out of work._”

Moxley narrows his eyes at the phone, actually pulls it away from his ear and glares at it, before practically slamming it against his own head. “Why would I need’a do that?” 

“_Regardless if the Omega is yers or not, yer not goin’ta be in any position to work with a heatin’ Omega in yer’ house._” 

Letting out a moan of discomfort, he flops down into his pillow in frustration. “Great, just great. What else?” 

Finn is radiating such comforting energy, even through the phone, that Moxley can just … _ tell _ his sister is nearby; he isn’t mean if she isn’t there, he’s one of the nicest people he’s ever met, but the way his voice carries such a gentle fuckin’ tone is evidence enough that Bayley was near him. 

“_Make sure you have plenty of food and plenty of drink in the house._”

“Like, what kinda food?” 

“_When the Omega isn’t so uncomfortable, let them pick out what things they want. Some days will be better than others, but ultimately they’ll need things to fill them up between fevers._” ‘Fevers’ was Finn’s slang for … whatever Roman was probably going through, the ‘heat’, and Moxley starts a grocery list as Finn continues to talk. “_Or, do what I do, if you’re able: order groceries online or through an app, and stay with the Omega._” 

Moxley wrinkles his nose - he’s specifically trying not to have any kind of relationship with Roman, aside from maybe an acquaintance, and knowing his history and knowing enough about Roman’s, he’s sure Roman feels the same. “Is Bay able to talk?”

He hears movement, a bed spring squeak, and the phone be moved around. Suddenly, a much cheerier voice comes on the line, and Moxley feels his entire persona change. “_Hey, Jon! _”

“Yo. Hey, I have a question, Bay.” 

“_What is it? _”

Pretty much since he’d met Roman, he’d had a few questions, but he wasn’t sure how to ask. His sister used to work for an _ actual _ clinic, not the Omega shelter-thing down the road, so she came in contact with a lot of Omegas and, maybe… “When you worked in the clinic, do you … did you ever work with … um, Omegas used for breeding?” He didn’t usually word things so kindly, but his sister had quite the right hook on her, and she had no reservations about hitting someone who won’t hit her back. It wouldn’t be in the face, the arm probably, but her punches leave lasting discomfort. Not to mention, Finn would have his ass, too. 

“_Quite a bit, yeah. That was more Sasha’s area of expertise, but I helped a few when they had meltdowns. Why? _”

He makes quick work of the story of how Roman came to be staying with him, and she giggles, and he pretends not to hear it. He also pretends he doesn’t hear her mutter “_Softie _” under her breath. When he’s done, he breathes, “...I dunno what to do, if I’m s’posed to help, or what. Since, ya know.”

“_Let me guess, you’re taking responsibility for him, right? Not that it isn’t your fault, dumbass._”

Moxley rolls his eyes. “Gee. Thanks.”

“_Talk to him,_” she gets serious all of a sudden. “_See if he's willing to let you help him with anything. Your instincts are gonna be going nuts, so you won’t be working. Not only that, but because he’s heating and doesn’t seem to have a mate, he’s in danger whether he’s inside or out. Other Alphas will steer clear of him if there’s another Alpha around._” 

Before he can finish his argument that he doesn’t always _ seem _ like an Alpha, Finn interrupts, “_E__veryone will know._”

“Thanks for sharing my misery with Finn, sis.” 

Bayley only laughs. “_Just talk to him, okay? You’d be surprised what a comfort it is for an Alpha to offer an Omega assistance._”

“Ew, gross. I’m gonna hang up before you two get even grosser.”

Finn laughs this time, something snarky and knowing, and Moxley feels his cheeks burning. “Okay bye.” 

“_Text me later if you need more help. Or I can give you Sasha’s number and she can help._” 

“Yeah. Bye.” 

Moxley hangs up and slips his phone in his pocket, looking around his bedroom. It’s pretty late in the morning, and he can’t hear any movement out in the main part of the apartment, which is a bit of a relief. He can guaran-fucking-tee that Roman wants _ none _ of his help. Though…

“..._w__hat you're doing is a huge help._”

...that had to mean something, right? 

Getting up and adjusting his pajama pants - he usually sleeps in pants no matter the temperature, and not a shirt - he plods out of the bedroom and into the hallway. His first objective of that day was to do the whole grocery list thing, maybe order some online and some he’d get at the store _ just _ to get away for a hot minute, and call out of work. He’ll talk to Roman when he wakes up, or whatever, or maybe he won’t. 

The kitchen is Omega-less, which is kind of a relief. The first couple nights had been torture, but today doesn’t seem to be that bad. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it right, because he feels pretty sane right now, trying to ignore the image of Roman on his bed, knees knocked apart, his … fingers wet with … okay _ fuck _. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

_ Think of something else, you fuckin’ disgusting-- _

“Morning.” 

Moxley turns his head around, intent on not turning his whole body around for reasons he would _ sure _ like to ignore, and looks at Roman with wide-eyes. He’s got on a tee shirt and basketball shorts, a pretty plain-looking set of pajamas, and his face is sleep-puffy. His shirt is wrinkled and sideways, giving him a healthy view of a soft tummy, not big but not toned. One of his hands shoots into his pants to adjust himself, the contact making him almost groan out, but he bites it back. 

“Hey.” He takes his hand out and rubs his hand over his stomach, trying to be nonchalant, and walks over to the counter to the coffee pot. He plugs it into the wall and presses the button to start it. “Coffee’s on.” 

Roman nods and sits down at the tiny island, rubbing at his face and letting out a groan. Moxley pretends his dick doesn’t twitch, the traitor, and he walks to stand on the other side of the island so he can continue playing pretend. “You … uh, feel okay to go out?” 

“Think so. Why?” 

“My sister and her mate told me we needta go shopping. And I gotta find out what kinda things ya like, and we can even go to your place so you can get some clothes.” 

Roman’s eyebrows furrow. “I already told you- …?” 

“J--” He had to remember: he doesn't want any sort of relationship with this guy. "-I'm Mox." 

“-Mox. I already told you, I live out of town. Like, not an easy hour drive away. All my shit’s in Florida.” 

Oh. Fuck, that’s not what he’d been hoping for. “Damn. Why you here, then?” 

“Uh, I guess you could call it ‘work thing’. It’s sickening how much money people will pay you for pretty babies.” 

...oh. “Sorry, man. That’s… I didn’t--” 

“No, it’s … it’s fine. It isn’t, but it is what it is, and I don’t do it now.” 

“And now ya get to suffer anyway, despite bein’ free of it. Been there.” 

Roman levels him with a glare, cautious. Moxley sighs. So much for not having a relationship with the guy. “So, we got some shit to attend to, here. First, the shopping thing. Some shit I can get online, things we won’t need right away, but I need food and drinks and shit to fill my fridge with while you’re recoverin’ from, uh. The … fevers?” 

The glare goes away momentarily, a prick of a smile replacing it on Roman’s lips, and Moxley looks down at his hands. 

Damn damn damn. 

Quiet stretches between them for a while, but it’s mostly because Moxley can’t think of what the fuck he wants to say next - he always gets weird about soft shit, doesn’t really know how to talk to people about things like feelings. Doesn’t really know how to talk to people _ period _, if he was being honest. Socializing was never his strong-suit, and yet, here he was. 

But Roman seems to notice his discomfort, a slight chuckle breaking his side of the quiet, and he leans his cheek in his hand as he watches Moxley avoid his eyes. “I can tell you’ve not been around a lot of Omegas.”

Moxley lets out a laugh that’s almost completely void of cheer. “That’s the funny part. I was raised by Omegas and Betas. I’m the only Alpha in my family.”

“Oh.” Roman purses his lips for a second, before correcting himself, “I guess you haven’t been around a lot of _ heating _ Omegas, then.” 

“Not really, no. Every time my sister would start her, uh, yeah- my foster parents would send me away and keep her locked away. Y’know, to keep her safe.” What he doesn’t say, and tries not to imply with too much self-hatred, is the “_ safe from me _” that he knew was the truth. The only Alpha in his family, even all his foster homes, and his last one with his foster sister who he loved like they were blood … it’s not like it was plainly obvious that he was the problem. “But you’re here, ain’t ya? And I’m here, like, I’m sure I did a real stupid thing on your end’a things but I wasn’t gonna leave you out there, so-” 

So, Moxley knows he’s stumbling over his words, trying to fill in gaps of quiet instead of contribute useful answers. Roman has a slight smile on his face, like Moxley stuck on what to say is funny, and it’s about all he can do not to throw his ass out just because. He _ hates _ being tongue-tied. 

“No, it’s not that. I don’t think that- I’m grateful that you let me crash here.” He sounds it. Moxley levels Roman with a careful, ‘trying not to look like a kicked puppy but failing regardless’ look, before he sighs. 

“Look, is there somethin’ I can help you with, is what I’m tryin’ to ask? Groceries are a given. You stayin’ here ‘til your heat’s over is a given. But, ‘til then … like-- _ fuck _.” 

Roman’s expressions turns to confusion, to shock, to embarrassment. “You … er, wanna know if you can help me? Like, what, fucking, or--” 

Seeing Roman get embarrassed gives Moxley comfort, for some reason, and he breathes air out in a sharp huff. “I mean, I know it sounds weird, but I asked my sister and honestly she only said ‘talk to you’ and I’m doin’ that!” he starts getting annoyed, because what was he supposed to do? Admit that yeah, his stupid dick wants Roman, but Moxley’s stupider heart wants to genuinely help make the situation he made bad in the first place better? He hates this, he hates it so fucking _ much _. 

He hates it more when Roman starts laughing. 

Moxley doesn’t get embarrassed often. Sure, he might get uncomfortable, but he’s the king of deflection, of changing the subject, of removing himself from situations that made him feel like shit. But right now, Roman’s laughter ringing out in the kitchen, Moxley’s face is bright red and he has half a mind to cover his face because what he’d just insinuated sounded pretty fucking stupid even to _ him _. 

When Roman gains composure - it takes … way longer than it should have, damn him - he wipes at his face and sniffles. “No offense man, but I don’t want another Alpha’s dick in me for a long-ass time. The offer itself, however, to help out in _ other _ ways isn't the most impossible thing.” 

“Yeah?” Moxley’s voice is a step higher than normal, and words start tumbling out as he tries to regain his own composure. “Yeah, yeah, other ways- like what, like-like--” 

Roman’s features become quite enthused, and he leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Mox, have you ever _ been _ with a person, like been intimate?” 

“Yeah?” 

“So you know there are _ other _ ways besides fucking, yeah? C’mon man, use your head.” 

Moxley breathes out a sigh, trying to get his head in the game, bring himself back to normal because he lost himself for a steady minute there. He gulps. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, so like, what. You want a blowjob, you want me to tease you?” The way Roman gulps, Moxley grows bold. Lets himself feel out the moment. “You want it, huh? While you’re burnin’ up over there, you want me to what, get under the table and spr--” 

“--okay! Okay, jeez, fine, yes! If I need you, I’ll let you _ know _. Okay? We can figure logistics later, but I really need to bathe and get ready if we’re going out.” Getting up, Roman straightens, completely abandons Moxley and the coffee and practically stomps to his bedroom. With a smirk on his face, Moxley turns back to the coffee and grabs himself some, leans against the counter and unabashedly adjusts himself in his pajama pants. 

He’d consider this whole morning a win. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: some fingering happens in close-quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where we start earnin' the mature rating! 
> 
> not only that, but i'd like to clear up that 1) we're throwing cisgendered headcanons out the fuckin window, lads! gender doesn't play a factor in the identities of people in this or any other a/b/o verse i may tackle! transgender, intersex, nonbinary, etc etc people all exist! (and, if ya don't like that? tough.) 2) Omegas have vaginas/uteruses, Alphas have dicks, Betas ain't special. got it?  
3) i don't have a third one. onto the story, ya heathenish buttholes.

It’s a test of Moxley’s resolve when they get to the grocery store, he knows it, because when they get there and they’ve been walking around for a while, Roman starts sweating; they had been getting ready to buy some drinks, some Gatorade and bottles of water, when Moxley hears Roman’s breathing start to deepen. He’s clutching onto the cart, trying to pretend like everything is fine, and Moxley knows and  _ feels _ like things aren’t how it seems. 

“Hey.” It’s not like he’s expecting to have a conversation, but he wants to see if Roman’s all-there. Roman levels dark eyes at him, sniffs, then pretends to show interest in some boxed noodles on the shelf next to him to keep his attention away. Moxley knows the danger of doing what Roman needs in public, and he won’t do anything here, but it’d probably be best if they did what they needed to do as quick as possible. “I can order most ‘f this shit online. Let’s get outta here.” 

“If you just give me a second-” 

“We don’t know if you  _ got _ a second. Trust me, we stay any longer, ya might get jumped.” 

Roman looks at Moxley for a moment, looks down at the cart - they have about half of what he had wanted to get, including some normal groceries, but he’d also managed to grab some energy bars and a big case of water bottles, so he gives Roman the keys to his car and instructs him to get in the back seat and lock the doors. Before Roman can make his getaway, Moxley takes off the large jacket he had on and tossed it to him. “Put that on.” It was less to warm him up - the damn guy’s radiating heat as it is - and more to put his scent on him. Roman takes it without argument, puts it over his shoulders and slips his arms through the sleeves, before plodding off to the car so Moxley could take care of the groceries in the cart. 

He gets them paid for and rushes to the car, hurriedly putting them in the trunk. He grabs a water bottle and a couple of energy bars and makes his way to the back seat. 

Roman’s got his legs splayed out, as much as he can in the small car, and it takes a  _ lot _ of self-control - control that he conditioned  _ himself _ into having - to not rush into the back seat and ravage someone who was practically a complete stranger. Instead, he puts up his driver’s seat as far up as it will go and folds it in half before climbing in to join him. “Sit at an angle for me,” he instructs, voice low and husky and driven by lust. 

Part of him wishes Roman’s stupid body waited ‘til they got back to the apartment. The other, loudest part, is the one that takes precedence. 

Roman scoots his large body into an angle, one of his hands shaking as it rubs along his forehead. He seems nervous, not shy, and Moxley notices the way his breath shakes as he exhales. 

“Hey. I know what others… like me, are like. But you tell me what ya want, and I’ll do that. I don’t even have to look at ya.” 

Nodding, Roman covers his mouth for a minute. “That would be … ideal. I’ve had some kids, remember.” 

“Yeah. We can cover up your lap if ya want. I can work blind.” Moxley reaches under the seat and pulls out a raggedy quilt. He drapes it over Roman’s thighs, lets him adjust it, and Roman starts to pull off his jeans and boxers, and Moxley wishes he could crack a window at the sudden smack to his senses it is to smell ‘unmated Omega in heat’, but he’d have to make do. “So, whatcha want?” 

“Some damn  _ relief _ ,” Roman  _ moans _ this, back arching slightly. Moxley’s hand slips under the blanket, scritching short nails against his thigh. “Fuck.” 

“You got it.” 

Moxley sits up on his knees, just to give his arm a better angle, and he paws his hand experimentally at Roman’s thighs; he’s kind of a thick guy, which he’d noticed but not  _ really _ noticed, and the closer he gets to where Roman needs relief the most, the more he starts sounding off. When Moxley cups him and rubs a couple fingers up and down his slit, Roman covers his mouth. If they were at the apartment, Moxley might pull his hand away, might want to hear the delectable, dirty sounds he would make, but not like this, not here. 

He’s gathered up enough slick to be able to slide his middle finger through with little effort, and after a few experimental pumps of his finger, he adds his second finger. Roman’s legs widen a little, his body slinks a little lower, and Moxley  _ has _ to focus on the why instead of the what so he’s not driving with a huge fucking hard-on. 

On his end, there’s not a lot of noise. He’s here to get Roman through this in about the only way he can think to be helpful, and he’s heard from plenty that he had talented hands. From the sounds that Roman’s making, he might just believe them, as he’s slunk down a little further in the seat and he’s starting to moan around his own hand covering his mouth. Moxley’s about a half-second from pulling his hand away so he can hear how good a time he’s having when his hand simply falls onto his stomach, his fingers twitching, before it slips underneath the blanket. 

Takes about a half-second for Moxley to figure out what’s going on - Roman’s started rubbing himself, above where his hand is already working - and he straightens his fingers and adjusts his position once more. Suddenly it’s a race to the finish line, because they have meat in the car and they’ve gotta fucking  _ go _ , so he starts fingering him at a much faster rate, chanting “Come on, come on” as he does, and the noises Roman starts to make drive him absolutely fucking crazy, but he has to ignore them. Their hands bump into each other every time he pushes in, and when he starts to feel his walls tighten and Roman’s breaths come out in broken pants, he pumps faster, aiming right for his very core, and when Roman lets out an unrestrained shout, Moxley twists his fingers as he pulls them out and gives him a few pats, testing his sensitivity, and Roman’s fingers close around his hand. 

He’s not sure if that’s telling him to stop, but he does anyway. 

“O-oh my God,” Roman says before he catches his breath. 

“I’m Mox, but you can call me ‘God’ if ya want, sweetheart.” 

Moxley, honestly, is waiting for a glare or a ‘fuck you’ or something equally annoyed, but when Roman’s mouth spreads into a grin, his eyes widen slightly, taken aback. Roman’s hand releases his and he pulls his hand away, ignoring the sheen to his fingers and wiping it on the quilt. Roman does wrinkle his nose at that, promises to have it cleaned or something to that effect, but Moxley’s far too busy trying to get out of the back seat. 

“Right yerself, ‘cause we’re goin’  _ right _ back to the apartment.” 

The sound of Roman pulling his clothes back on and mumbling another apology about the mess on his quilt is completely lost to Moxley, who’s too busy trying to get them from here back to the apartment all while  _ starkly _ ignoring the fact that he came in his fucking pants without being fucking touched. 

Well. At least he wasn’t driving with a hard-on. 

He’ll just pretend that this isn’t much worse. 

* * *

The moment they get back and the food that needs it is put in the fridge or freezer, Moxley runs straight to his room to change his clothes; God, he’d not felt  _ that _ kind of crazy-aroused since he was a dumb teenager around other dumb teenagers, and he hadn’t liked the feeling of wanting to fuck whatever moved back then, and he isn’t liking the re-surging feeling now. He scoops up a pair of baggy sweatpants and a tanktop and heads into the bathroom, intent on cleaning himself off before Roman gets in there to, presumably, take a bath. 

When he gets out, however, Roman’s changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a tee shirt, and it’s a stark contrast to what he was wearing earlier; he’s got his long hair, usually pulled in a bun, down, the ends curling halfway down his back. He’s in the middle of putting it back up when he  _ must _ hear Moxley coming back down the hallway, when he sends him a little grin. 

“I’ll cook tonight. Kinda am in the mood for meatballs, so. My Mom’s got the best sauce recipe, if uh. If that’s okay?” 

“Huh? Uh, yeah.” Moxley sniffs, saunters over to sit at one of the stools by the island. “Sure, whatever ya want. ‘m not much of a cook anyway.” 

“I figured.” Roman grins and sees to searching the cabinets for the appropriate pot to start making the sauce, presumably. He’s not really sure why he’d start it now, it wasn’t nearly time to start cooking dinner, and he must have a really stupid look on his face when Roman turns back around to look at him, because he starts laughing, this sound that expands the size of the room. “What’s that look for?” 

“What look? Why are ya startin’ it now?” From one question to another. Roman smiles and puts the pot on the stove and moves back to the fridge to pull out some ingredients: a tub of minced garlic, an onion, some butter. Moxley had to point him toward the cupboard where he keeps the spices and the bottle of oil, and he sets to chopping up the onion. 

At first, Roman doesn’t answer, and honestly, it’s the first time that someone either flat-out ignoring him or not giving him an answer Right Then and There hadn’t pissed him off. Instead, he watches the way he slides the knife through the onion like he’d been cooking his whole life, and suddenly, Moxley wonders if he had. Once the onion’s cut small - diced - he turns on the pot and swirls some oil in the bottom of the pan. 

“My Mom always used to let it simmer all day. My siblings and I would all come home from school and the whole house would smell like her homemade sauce. Talk about drooling.” He laughs slightly, and adds the onion and then a spoonful of minced garlic with some liquid into the oil and onion and starts moving it around with a spoon. “I was really the only one of my siblings who had any interest in cooking, so I have a huge book of her old recipes back at my place.” 

Moxley stands up and hovers around the pot, the onions and garlic already starting to smell better than anything he’d ever made. Roman mixes it around with a wooden spoon, looks down at the knobs on the stove and turns the knob for his burner to almost low, and gives it another stir. “If I were home, I could use my immersion blender…” 

“What’s that used for?” he was sure he sounded like an absolute idiot, but Moxley hadn’t ever owned or known anyone else in his family who owned any fancy kitchen utensils. When Roman raises an eyebrow at him, he feels his face start to burn in embarrassment, but instead of making him feel worse for being poor, he pulls a few big cans of tomatoes - a couple cans of crushed tomatoes, one can of diced tomatoes - and starts to, presumably, ask where the can opener is before Moxley points at a drawer next to the fridge, right in front of Roman. “Opener’s in there.” 

“Thanks,” Roman opens the drawer and pulls out an obviously-dated can opener, something he took from his mom’s place way back when. Despite it’s aged look, he doesn’t say anything, just proceeds to open the cans with all the trouble Moxley figured he’d have. Eventually he gets the cans open and dumps them all into the pot, stirring them all together. “Hey, can you fill these with water? Just a little bit, enough to get the stuff on the sides.” 

“Uh, sure. ‘kay.” Taking the two now-empty cans of crushed tomatoes to the island and grabbing one of the water bottles and cracking it open, he runs the water over the sides of the can and swishes it around to get everything, then puts the cans back by Roman. “Why … did I do that?” 

“Makes sure I get everything. The sauce is gonna reduce a lot so the more filled-up it is now, the better. What kinda spices you got?” 

“Um…” Moxley goes into his spice cupboard, which doesn’t have much. Just a few things Callihan left behind, but he saw somewhere there was a few kinds of dried herbs he should have on-hand for cooking. “Dried basil, dried parsley, oregano, salt and pepper… um, what’re you lookin’ for?” 

“Can I have the basil, salt, and … do you have dried pepper flakes?”

After a couple seconds of looking, Moxley pulls out a small container of red pepper flakes. “Yeah, here.” Once all the other herbs Roman needs are out, he decides he’s had enough of watching for now. “I’m gonna go chill in my room for a while. If ya need me, jus’ go in. Or like, yell, I don’t care.” 

Before Roman answers, Moxley’s already turned on his heel and shuts himself away. 

When he comes out a couple hours later, his whole apartment smells like he’d stepped into a fancy-shmancy Italian restaurant. Roman’s got his hair in a braid going down his back and he’s just put a giant pot of water on the stove. From somewhere closer to Roman than Moxley, there’s rock music playing, and further investigation results in the music coming from his cell phone that’s placed on the island. If he sees Moxley come out, he doesn’t acknowledge him, and he’s left thinking that that’s just as well. 

If somebody saw what the incredibly-domestic scene of Roman in  _ his  _ kitchen making  _ them _ dinner was doing to a guy like Moxley--

( _ “Since when d’ya care?” _

_ “I don’t!” _

_ “You have  _ ** _never_ ** _ , since I’ve known you, called an Omega by their name. Ya realize that?” _ )

. --they might actually fuckin’ laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you'll notice i changed the rating outright. by doing so, i hope that gives proper warning to any minors that this story has EXPLICIT, NOT SAFE FOR MINORS kind of content and, while i can't police what you consume on the internet, i can CERTAINLY do my part with warnings and tagging accordingly. please don't take advantage of that. 
> 
> ALSO, speaking of explicit content: if anyone is interested, i'll be posting my chrismuts submission from this year. it's a sequel to my fic 'of tea bags and carnations' and is roman/ofc. stay tuned for that sometime this weekend, hopefully. 
> 
> without further ado: fallout from ch4!

“I’m one of five,” Roman says after swallowing some of the spaghetti in his bowl. He makes a show of licking the corner of his mouth, something that sets something off in Moxley in a way that annoys him, before he continues on. “Actually, I’m the youngest of five, and only the second son.” 

“Jesus, can’t imagine havin’ that many family.” Moxley says this with a shrug as he chomps down more of his own bowl of spaghetti, and really, this is the best food he’s ever eaten. He doesn’t cook much more than the basics, nothing spectacular about his meals either, but he seriously thinks this is better than any professional cook could make for him. 

Roman gives him this look that reminds him too much of pity, but before he can say anything, Moxley brushes him off. “I don’t need you gettin’ all sad on me. I got a good family now.” 

“Any siblings?” 

“Not blood-related. My sister is the daughter of the last foster family I had before I aged out of the system, never adopted me officially but they were good to me, so whatever.” 

“So, is she, uh, I mean-” Roman fidgets a little, holding his bowl in one hand and gesticulating with his other to get Moxley to keep talking. Of course, it’s not like Moxley knows what it is he’s trying to ask, so he just ends up staring at him with an eyebrow raised. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Does she have somebody to help her right now?” 

Moxley nods his head, taking a bite and talking through the forkful of sauce and pasta, “Yeah, her mate, Finn.” 

Roman nods his head, like in confirmation. “So, she and I are both having a helluva time right now.”

“Yeah. Omega. She’s the one who suggested offerin’, uh.  _ Help _ .” 

A snarky grin, something more belonging on his own features, appears on Roman’s lips, making his eyes dance cheerfully. He’s not sure why he notices. “For someone who seemed so embarrassed earlier, I’m surprised you knew what to do.”

“I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I’d fucked someone, asshole.” 

“Didn’t say you were lying. Just said I was surprised.” 

“I just haven’t been with a heating Omega. Been with Betas, mostly. Told ya before, ‘m kind of a scumbag.”

Nodding his head - but giving him this expression like ‘ _ I don’t believe you, but okay _ ’ - Roman eats more, like he’s stopping himself from saying something. Moxley pretends to ignore him, eating some more of his own spaghetti. They’re both quiet for a while, eating, lost in the companionable silence, and Moxley isn’t sure why this feels so comfortable. He’s felt comfortable with people before, knows what having good company feels like, but he’s known Roman for only a couple days, maybe three total, including back then. Three is never enough, yet here he was, feeling like he didn’t have to fill the space with anything. 

Maybe it’s his instincts still being fucked up. He still isn’t sure if he’d made a mistake or not. 

When he finishes, he brings his bowl into the kitchen, throwing his fork into the sink and sets the bowl on the counter so he can start taking out containers to put the leftover sauce into; it had cooked down quite a lot, like Roman had said, but there was still a good container and a half-size amount of sauce left over, which he’ll put in the freezer for another day. He keeps looking over at his bowl, at the little bit of sauce left in the pan once the majority’s put in the container, and he looks over his shoulder to make sure Roman’s still eating. 

Using the ladle, he puts the rest into his bowl, just enough to cover the bottom, and he does the  _ unthinkable _ . 

Putting the pot over by the sink and picking up his bowl, he pours it straight into his mouth, sucking as much of it in as he can, and uses his finger to scrape the sides and licks up the length of his finger. Roman’s a fuckin’  _ amazing _ cook, could make someone a great fuckin’ mate someday and where the FUCK did that thought come from?! What the hell? 

He gathers the rest of it onto his finger and sticks it into his mouth, and is two seconds from sucking the damn spaghetti sauce off when he sees a figure standing in the doorway of the kitchen, and he feels eyes like saucers watching his every movement. 

Oh, god. 

Roman just saw him  _ do that _ . Indulge in something so childish and… and he doesn’t even know the  _ word _ that could describe it, wasn’t a fucking dictionary, but Roman’s expression is so unreadable that he at least has the awareness to feel sheepish about it. 

“I was, uh. Going to put the stuff away.” His voice trembles a little bit, but it sounds like he’s fighting to keep it steady, and like that, Moxley’s shoulders square, back straightening, because he knows what that means. Had heard Roman’s voice like that before, if his stirring dick is anything to follow. Something about what he’d done had stirred Roman’s heat up like a twister, and he gets it suddenly because something like that would make his ass horny, too. 

“Looks like you got somethin’ else you want.” Damn, but Roman brings out this boldness where he’s usually callous and blunt. He’d never liked the idea that, a long time ago, Alphas hunted unmated Omegas, didn’t like the message that sent, didn’t like the preying on unsuspecting, vulnerable people, but … in this moment, seeing the slight flush to Roman’s cheeks and his eyes not straying far from Moxley’s finger in his mouth … he gets it. 

He can see how badly Roman wants to rein himself in, wants to get a handle on himself before something could happen, and it might completely be whatever’s happening in the air inside this kitchen but …  _ but _ . Moxley creeps closer, stalking up to Roman while he wipes his finger on his shirt. Roman’s intently watching, in a way that seems almost hypnotized, and he can’t ignore the way his dark eyes keep darting from his shirt, to his mouth, and up into Moxley’s eyes. He stops an arm’s length away from Roman, watching as he shrinks a little, unsure despite the waves of lust currently slapping around his instincts. 

Moxley boxes him in, up against the wall, and Roman’s expression changes drastically. He’d never witnessed, himself, someone slip into a state of complete submission like that, and as much as he’d like to say it was incredibly fucking hot, it would be a huge lie. That kind of look wasn’t fair, it was almost cruel, and as much as he wants to yank him up by the hair and remind Roman who the Alpha was here, he made himself a fucking promise. 

He intends to keep it. 

Never take advantage of someone. They don’t want it, he doesn’t give it.

No one had given him that courtesy. All it had ever been, since he was born, was take. Take, take, take, took his mom, took his innocence, took his identity … took his fucking  _ life _ away and the only way he’d been able to put a stop to it was taking right back. But never like this. 

Roman’s eyes are blown dark, his nostrils flaring, lip quivering… and Moxley has to force his body to comply as he takes a step back, drops one hand as his other grabs Roman’s bowl and turns back around to finish cleaning up. 

“Go. Take a bath or somethin’. Just …  _ go _ .” 

Roman’s retreating footsteps come what feels like a lifetime later, after Moxley’s bracing himself on the kitchen sink, and he exhales hard, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood - a punishment. His hand grips the bowl, squeezes it tight, and he emits a growl as he throws it, hears it shatter but feels only the slightest relief. 

Fuck. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: voyeurism (listening through a door); dirty talk (kinda); more moxley torture. >:D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has given me Such A Time that i had to split it into two parts just to get the damn thing done. ...actually, truth time, the second part isn't done. but there is a reason it's taken so long and anyone who reads my stuff could probably more or less guess why that is. if ya can't, well, guess you'll have to wait until the next part comes out. 
> 
> ...which, i promise, won't take as long as this one did!! give it a couple weeks. my mind's been all over the place, but the hard part is done. (... -smirk- ) enjoy!

Everything comes to a head in the middle of the night. 

At first, it’s more a feeling than anything. Unrest. A feeling Moxley knew well, but it hadn’t ever become something he just  _ got used to _ . No, it feels like much more now, and he can only reach a single conclusion as he slips out of bed and has half a mind to  _ actually _ look down before he simply sighs like the weight of the world had come crashing down on his shoulders. In the blink of an eye, he’s out of his bedroom, his hand already poised to knock before he hears …  _ something _ . 

Lowering his hand, he presses his ear to the wood. 

At first, there’s not much of anything, and he considers cursing himself out for intruding on someone’s personal space like this, and he starts to lean away from it when—

“ _ Mmm… _ ”

\--he can’t seem to keep his ear off the door, now.

It’s a huge breach of tr… of  _ privacy _ for him to be listening, and he  _ should _ relish in the thought of reminding Roman that he was a scumbag with very little to no guilt whatsoever, but he’s having a hard time admitting to himself that the thought of doing something despicable to Roman when he’s in this vulnerable state doesn’t fill him with anything but anger. 

But he’ll stay on the other side of the door, away from what he knows is a  _ sight _ to fuckin’ behold, because he’s seen plenty of people on their backs. It’s different, though, when there’s an obstacle in the way, leaving him to paint his own picture behind his eyelids, and he’s got a pretty active imagination. 

Roman moaning on the other side of the door is giving him plenty to picture: laying on his back, propped up by pillows, legs bent at the knee but spread apart…

\--_his hand slips into his pajama pants, giving his hard dick a squeeze, trying to grant himself even a little bit of relief_\--

...and his fingers toying with his most intimate place, rubbing and jerking and doing what he had to do to find the end he so desperately craved…

\--_fingers form a fist over his junk, grasping his shaft and rubbing up and down_\--

...his voice keeps coming through the door, providing enough of a soundtrack for Moxley to know that whatever Roman was doing to himself, he was doing a good-enough job without his help. It sounded like he was trying to muffle himself, and was failing spectacularly as delicious moans filtered through the door into his ears. 

The bed creaks every so often, then does some more until it’s creating a rhythm, and he’s got to move himself away from the door for fear of being heard. It grants him no reprieve from what’s happening inside, but he doesn’t stop his hand’s movements. His fist on his dick is moving erratically, not a rhythm to be found, pumping for release so he can just go back to fucking  _ bed _ and pretend this isn’t happening. He can hear what kind of pleasure Roman’s experiencing, and could argue that he’s feeling it too. His hips start twitching, chasing his hand as it jerks away, and he can already feel the white-hot pleasure pooling in his stomach. 

His release comes sooner than he expected.

Or, rather:  _ Roman’s _ release comes sooner than he expected. 

It had been quiet for a moment, but then Roman’s voice says something, breathless, and he’d like to pretend for the rest of time that it had been gibberish, unintelligible in his own lust and through the door, but he can hear what dances on his lips quite clearly. Even worse yet…

“ _ M-Mooooox-! _ ”

...it was his own stupid fucking name! 

He’s not sure if it was from shock, pleasure, panic or all three, but his orgasm rocks his entire body hard, making him shoot his load into his pajama pants without any chance to get himself safely behind his own door across the hall. He has the wherewithal to, at least, put the meat of his thumb into his mouth and bite hard so that his own sounds aren’t so loud, but he’s not sure if it does anything in the long-run. Pulling his hand away, he tries to force his breath to even out - which only makes it harder, deeper - and sorta waddles into his bedroom. 

His pants were fucking ruined. 

His hand was fucking disgusting, covered in his release, and his dick was sensitive to the simplest brush of air. 

And he was completely fucking  _ screwed _ !

* * *

Moxley was having a hard time pretending that what happened that night hadn’t happened, and it only makes it worse when Roman’s heat was having one last hoorah before it was finally over. 

It was the fifth day of the seven day heat cycle. His one lifeline in this whole mess would be in the thick of it too, and he wasn’t about to bother his sister or her lifemate any time soon. He doesn’t have any other friends with mates, and while he could just as easily look it up on the internet or something, he couldn’t find it in himself to bring light to his issue. 

His issue:

His body’s  _ gall _ to have such a strong reaction, problem -  _ connection, bond _ \- with Roman’s. 

Roman was staying in his room, which was exactly where he should be. Moxley’s instincts are going so crazy, today more than any other day, that he’s doing his best to avoid leaving his own for fear of something happening. Worse yet, he knows the second he leaves his bedroom, it would be all over for Roman. All his life he’s been  _ warned _ ,  _ threatened _ , what would happen if he ever got near a heating Omega, what his fucking  _ body _ would make him do. 

He’s the product, the  _ result _ , of what happened to a heating Omega when a dangerous Alpha got nearby. He might not have to, but he’ll be  _ damned _ sure that he doesn’t make anyone the victim of that kind of shit.

Luckily, he does have some things in his room to eat or drink, some warm water from a water bottle and a half’a bag of chips. It’s a tiny bit of relief but he’ll take it, considering. 

A relief that goes otherwise unnoticed when there’s a knock on the door. 

“What.” short, but no less desperate than if he’d burst into sudden tears. 

“Mox, I need your help.” muffled, like he’s speaking under a hand pressed over his mouth. “It’s so hot.” 

“What’ya want  _ me _ t’do?” 

And he wishes he hadn’t asked. Because whatever it was Roman wanted him to do, it meant being close to him, breathing him in, running the risk of doing something unforgivable and he’s already almost come so fucking close  _ once _ . Hesitance turns to fear. Fear turns to utter panic, when…

“ _ I need you to  _ ** _fuck_ ** _ me _ .” 

...Roman says it with a rising level of need that sets Moxley’s instincts ablaze, but he knows, he  _ remembers _ what Roman had told him. He didn’t, and he quotes, ‘ _ want an Alpha’s dick in him for a long-ass time _ ’. He had made that clear and, as much as Moxley felt some part of him despair at that, he won’t go against that even if Roman himself is begging for it. 

Still, Moxley walks to stand next to his door, overwhelmed already by the heady scent of Roman’s heat and he already feels his dick warming up to the prospect. “You said you didn’t want a dick in ya again. Think ‘bout this carefully.” 

“I know what I said. But I also know that what I’m doin’ here is makin’ my wrist cramp.” 

“Please…” it’s the one time Moxley’s said it with so much air. “Please don’t say shit like that.” 

“I can get it from you or I can go take a stroll and--” 

Moxley practically  _ rips _ the door off its hinges. “The  _ fuck _ you will.” 

Roman’s standing there, sleep shorts crooked and low on his hips. “Please, Mox.” As he’s standing there, he looks like he’s about to collapse from fever, and Moxley supposes that could be true. But Moxley had heard that like with any fever, Omegas can sometimes be a little delirious, aren’t always in enough control over themselves, but the longer he stands there, drowning in Roman’s scent … the less he cares. 

This was dangerous. 

Moxley grabs Roman by the wrist and drags him in, closing the door. “I’ll tell ya what’s gonna happen first. First, ya need to learn a thing or two about ol’ Mox: when he makes someone a promise, he intends t’  _ keep _ .  _ That. Promise. _ And yer’ makin’ it awfully hard to do that all fucked out, smellin’ like that…” he  _ has _ to get control of himself, before it’s too late, but his hand is already seeking out the curve of Roman’s ass, gripping, and Roman isn’t helping by rolling into it. “...aha, and two, I don’t take kindly to bein’ ordered around. Ain’t an Alpha thing, just a Moxley thing. You wanna boss me around, you better be prepared to take everythin’ you’re askin’ for.”

Roman pants, hard, breathless and dripping. Moxley has to fight to take a deep breath in, mostly because doing so is not only fucking creepy, but may be a little …  _ terrifying _ . 

“How ‘bout this: I grant ya a little relief and you think about what yer’ askin’ of me.”

_ I just don’t want you to be mad.  _

_ I don’t want you to regret it. _

_ I don’t want to  _ _ hurt _ _ you. _

Unsurprisingly, these all go unsaid. 

“O-okay, yeah fine.” 

Sighing mightily and quirking his head toward the bed gives Moxley a brief moment to rub his hand through his short hair and scratch through his beard. It’s unfair, how easily Roman goes, how ready he is for this. When he turns around, Roman’s not even made it further than the edge of the mattress, one hand holding up his weight while the other is working under his shorts, breathless whimpers catching in his throat. Moxley goes over, trying to think of this in the least-personal way possible, acting like him yanking down the loose basketball shorts was the same as a businessman opening a briefcase. 

“You gonna stand up the whole time?” His hand grabs at an ass cheek, digging nails in lightly, enough to leave tiny pinpricks but nothing too painful. It makes Roman moan and press his ass into the contact. “Yeah, you’re gonna wish you laid down, because I’m about t’ knock you onto your knees, fuck.” 

“You gonna talk or you gonna get to work?” there’s a teasing edge to Roman’s voice and Moxley growls, not taking lightly to being challenged. 

“You’ll pay for that.” He punctuates the hidden threat with a slap to Roman’s ass that’s more sound than pain, but it doesn’t stop the shocked sound that was punched out of his very gut. That makes a sick part of Moxley light up with glee, delighted that someone might be into a little bit of violence. He might not love the idea all the time, but with the right partner, he could get into it. “Ya like that, huh? Guess you better get comfortable, ‘cuz I’m ‘bout to collect.”

Roman grunts at that, and he might have rolled his eyes, but he turns around to sit on the edge of the bed and scoots back. Moxley grabs onto his leg to make him stop, which he does, which makes his gut do flips as he gets on the bed himself and listens to the protesting squeaks of his cheap mattress as he crawls until he’s hovering over Roman - a safe-enough distance, but still close, and it’s the first time that Moxley’s really  _ looked _ at his face since he’d come in the room. 

His face shows a lot of emotions, but none of them are fear. Despite how Moxley feels about all this, himself and Roman in that moment, the last thing Roman seems is scared. That hits him in a completely new way. 

Roman’s eyes are blown dark and wide, looking all the while like the bastard belongs there, here, and in order to distract himself from thoughts that torture him in the worst way - or best way, depending on who’s talking - he has to make his hand start moving, crawling down until his longest finger is touching Roman where his attention’s most required, and instead of teasing, Moxley just gets to work, rubbing two fingers up and down the length of his slit until he gathers up enough slick to push both fingers into Roman. 

Roman opens his legs, holding onto one under his knee, and emits a moan that sounds like it was punched out of him. Where last time there was no fanfare, Moxley feels very much that there is this time, pumping his fingers in and out, twisting, watching the different faces Roman makes and feeling his teeth bite down on his lower lip as he tries not to let them get too ahead of themselves, because in the right here and now, Roman’s mouth is mesmerizing him and he can’t bear to take his eyes away from the way his mouth drops open, his bottom lip gets trapped in his teeth in order to stem the flow of any more sounds from escaping them. 

It’s almost criminal, how much Moxley wants to … how close he is from--

_ Roman’s face is gettin’ real close to m-- _

\-- oh  _ no _ .

...they’re so much softer than he thought they might be. Roman’s lips. They’re soft and warm and pliant, not thinking twice about surging into Moxley’s own, and by the time Moxley realizes what he’d done, his lips were tingling and spit slick and Roman’s were dark and oh  _ NO _ .

Oh,  _ FUCK _ .

In his shock, his fingers slow. He needs to focus, do what he said he was going to do, but his fucking brain is shortcircuiting and whatever fucking  _ moron _ told him to kiss Roman is gonna get their damn ass beat to hell. This game was already a dangerous one. Now…

“Again. Kiss me again.”

Moxley does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me on tumblr!! (cookiethewriter)  
if you wanna join a super fun discord server where sometimes i talk about fic stuff/stuff i'm doing!! c: (message me on tumblr!)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: SMUT. SMUT EVERYWHERE. SWEET JEEZUM THERE'S SMUT. HAVE YOU HEARD THE WARNING? BC I'M HERE TO WARN YOU THERE'S SMUT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heed the warning. heed the new tags. and, most importantly ... enjoy.

_ ...they’re so much softer than he thought they might be. Roman’s lips. They’re soft and warm and pliant, not thinking twice about surging into Moxley’s own, and by the time Moxley realizes what he’d done, his lips were tingling and spit slick and Roman’s were dark and oh  **NO** . _

_ Oh,  **FUCK** . _

_ In his shock, his fingers slow. He needs to focus, do what he said he was going to do, but his fucking brain is short-circuiting and whatever fucking  **moron** told him to kiss Roman is gonna get their damn ass beat to hell. This game was already a dangerous one. Now… _

_ “Again. Kiss me again.” _

_ Moxley does. _

_ ... _

Pulling his fingers out and rubbing them on his bed, Moxley kisses Roman hard, his hand hovering over the side of Roman’s face like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold on or push himself back. He instead settles for gripping onto the comforter beside Roman’s head and it’s the first time in his life he’s felt so  _ alive _ , hot and buzzing, electricity zipping up and down his veins and in his brain and he really was fucked so long ago, he just didn’t want to believe it. This was so different than all the other times he’s had someone in bed. For one, it was never in his. For two, he  _ never _ thought he was going to pop a fucking knot just by doing absolutely fucking  _ nothing _ . 

His hips have starting rutting against Roman’s bare crotch, little sounds escaping him, and Roman looks like he has something to say and Moxley isn’t sure that he wants to hear it. Still, he feels his breath in the word “ _ Talk _ ,” and Roman gulps. 

“I said I didn’t want an Alpha dick in me and you haven’t been  _ just _ an Alpha to me for a long-ass time. I don’t want just any Alpha dick, I want yours.” 

Moxley’s eyes widen, shocked, more surprised than anything. “What…?” His hips slow, hands pushing himself back, and Roman casts him what, honestly, looks like the most frustrated expression he’d ever seen. 

“I really have to spell it out for you.” Moxley blinks. “I know you feel it too. When I’m in my room getting myself off at night, I’m thinking about  _ you _ . When you and I were in your car, I was outta my  _ mind _ for you and I  _ know _ you’re not about to lie to my goddamn face and tell me you didn’t hear what I said.”

( “ _ Mooooooooooox! _ ” )

For a minute, time stands still, and Moxley wishes that he could talk himself out of this one. He can’t, though, not this time - so he doesn’t try. “Not only did I hear, I came in my fuckin’ pants like a horny teenager. Did  _ not _ expect it, at all.” 

Roman’s breath fans on his face, hot, and Moxley forces himself not to capture his mouth again. “So. C’mon. We both want it. I’ve never felt so fucking clear in my life. I want you to fuck me.”

This time, when Moxley leans in for a kiss, it’s heavy and close to biting, but it’s a lot to deal with when, try as he might (as he  _ did _ ) he hadn’t been able to run from the stupid feelings he’d sworn not to fall prey to. And now, in front of God and in spite of his fucking neighbors, he was going to give in and get a taste of the forbidden fruit which turned out to be not so forbidden to him anymore. 

“Yeah.” 

He makes quick work of his pajama pants and winces slightly when his dick stands to attention, almost curved up to his stomach, and normally he’d try to play smug, rub a fist over his length to tease or whatever, but the last thing he wants to do is touch and risk jizzing so hard he’s too sensitive for round one. Instead, he takes off his shirt, puts attention on another part of his body by rubbing a hand over each of his nipples - his left barely has any feeling after an accident at work - and clearing his dry throat. 

Roman takes off his shirt too, and Moxley likes the way his skin sits soft at his belly, not tight and flat, though he can see he’s been working on abs. His tits aren’t too heavy, but they’re soft too, and he wants nothing more than to put his teeth on one of his nipples and feel the stutter in his breath or fingers digging into his scalp. Instinctively, he runs fingertips, a ghost of a touch, over the head of his dick and he can feel a bubble of precum spurt in his cracked skin. 

He kneels on the bed again, crawling over to the other side to go into the drawer on the other side for a condom. As he pulls a packet to his teeth and start to open it, he feels movement near his knees, and in the blink of an eye, Roman’s got him in his mouth, just a quick feeling that is gone before he can do anything about it and he looks down at him. A cheeky grin is on Roman’s face, and as much as he’d like to be annoyed, Moxley echoes with a grin of his own. 

“Playin’ a dangerous game down there.” His eyes spark. “Don’t see me with my mouth on  _ you _ like that.”

“Don’t got time for that. Not much of a threat though.” Roman admits, looking for the first time a little embarrassed at his next admission. “Wanted your mouth on me the second I saw you in the kitchen the other night.”

Moxley scoots back and wastes no time sliding the condom on. “Gonna shut your pretty little mouth up  _ real _ quick.”

Lining up and pressing his knees to the globes of Roman’s ass, he looks at him, as if for permission, as if for some reassurance, for something he’s never really asked for before and Roman wriggles his hips, pushes himself onto Moxley’s tip a little and his chest expands as he inhales so sharply. Taking that as a go-ahead, he pushes in the rest of the way, ignoring the growling voice in the back of his head telling him to push, to rut, to fuck as hard as he can because it’s not about him. This whole fucking time, it’s been about Roman, but when he’s fully sheathed inside of him and his forehead falls softly on where Roman’s heart is beating loud, he realizes that he really needs this, too.  _ Wants _ Roman, too. 

So, he starts to move. 

There’s no race to the finish, or any clock they have to beat. There’s no danger here, no fear, just them. Roman’s making sounds into his hair, little noises that are barely anything, and Moxley’s teeth are dragging against his pec, and he contemplates biting down or kissing or licking but his brain isn’t too focused on what his mouth should be doing. When Roman’s sounds get quiet, comfortable, Moxley pushes up onto his hands and lifts up Roman’s legs, enough to bend him a little into a new angle, and Roman wraps his legs around his hips and Moxley gets up  _ real _ close and is able to punch out a few thrusts in this new position that gets Roman groaning in a new voice that makes Moxley’s eyes go staticky. 

“Mox, mm, fuck...”

“Jon, call me Jon- guh, fuck!”

He’s not sure what compels him to say it, considering everyone’s called him some variation of ‘Moxley’ since he dropped out of school at sixteen, which he preferred considering it left out any sort of personal attachment a person could grow with him. The only person who still called him Jon was Bayley, and although he might think later on what that means going forward, all he’s really thinking about now is--

“Ah, Jon, oh, please-”

\--how fucking  _ good _ his name sounds when Roman says it. 

On every thrust in, he hits Roman’s spot, and with every pull out he gathers the momentum to slam into it again. Again and again, until Roman’s a puddle of sounds, shaky and loud and it makes his dick weep as it repeatedly slams into him again. This is the most the world’s made sense in a long-ass time. And as long as he doesn’t think about that, the why, and everything else … then he’ll be okay. 

Roman’s arms circle around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss that is mostly teeth, and he kisses him back hard, growling into Roman’s mouth. Fuck, but he knows what this growl means, has only heard himself do it one other time, back when this fuckwad Alpha thought they could lay a hand on his sister before she started her first heat with him living at their house.  _ Mine _ . In her case,  _ my family _ . In this…

_ My Omega _ .

Roman’s body’s response is to hold him tighter, and Moxley pounds relentlessly, going for broke, because he can feel Roman’s orgasm closing in on him, on his  _ dick _ , and it’s a lot. His body’s growing heavy, his hands can only hold up his weight for so long before he crashes down into Roman’s neck, and his knot is starting to swell and it starts to catch on Roman as he pulls out and he absolutely can  _ not _ push back in. 

Unfortunately, Roman’s feet push him back in, and it’s too late after that. His knot is inside him fully, grown to full size, and his orgasm rocks his entire body as he pushes in as much as he can, almost rolling Roman’s hips all the way around and he hides his face in the crook of Roman’s neck, biting the blanket instead of Roman’s flesh. 

They’re both a sweaty, panting mess when their orgasms finally finish. Moxley can’t move, lest he risk harm to Roman, but his arms are long and he can at  _ least _ reach one of his pillows to put under Roman’s hips as he carefully lays his legs flat. He tugs him a bit, which Roman winces at, but doesn’t say anything. In all honesty, Moxley hopes there’s absolutely zero talking until his knot goes down and he can pull himself out. 

Underneath him, Roman rubs a hand over his face, his fingers going through his messed-up dark hair and working through a snag. The action is mesmerizing, or maybe he’s exhausted, so Moxley watches him and feels an embarrassed flush when Roman looks at him afterward, and he looks away, trying all the while to fake some sort of tough exterior and keep it up when he hears a tiny giggle from the man lying beneath him. 

“Shut up. It ain’t funny.” 

“You tryin’ to act all tough right now? Yeah, a little.” 

“Shut the hell up.” 

Roman’s smirk is possibly one of the most annoying things he’d ever seen. Looking back down at him and wrinkling up his nose in an attempted snarl (attempted, but failed, because his voice had lost its threatening edge a while ago) Moxley tries so hard to keep up the facade before he utters a sigh, closing his eyes. “Can’t fuckin’ win. Should’a known you and my sister would be just as fuckin’ annoying.”

The smirk softens. When Moxley finally gains the courage to open his eyes again, he can see Roman looking at him with a genuine smile on his face, and he blows out a breath, looking over Roman to see out the window. It’s still dark out. “Well, we got a while. You good?”

“Nyuh-huh” He sounds a bit too fucked out, which makes some part of him grow incredibly smug.  Moxley nods his head. 

“Same here. An’ that’s real annoying, ‘cause I ain’t felt this sorta thing as part of my daily fuckin’ life. Fuck, man.”

Roman looks at him with a dash of concern, working his mouth in a frown that lacks the weight he probably intends. Somehow, though, Moxley gets the point.  “And don’t look at me like that, okay? It’s not a big deal or anything.” 

“Is to me.” 

Moxley clears his throat and tests his knot, and when he hears Roman hiss and groan - there’s no mistaking it for anything but discomfort, so he quickly apologizes - and, after coming to the realization that they still have a bit to go, he rests his forehead against Roman’s shoulder. When he feels fingers on the back of his neck, he tenses up a bit but tries not to think about it. 

His mind is quiet … quiet enough that he slips into sleep and doesn’t wake up again until the sun’s already up. He’s not in the same position as he had been before, laying fully on the bed now, but there’s a big difference between all those other times and now. Normally, he wakes up alone, achy in his back or his shoulder and sometimes more tired than when he went to sleep. This time … this time, he feels rested, sated, and the only place he feels anything different is his chest, or rather … somewhere inside his ribs, which is slightly squeezed when he sees the silhouette of a sleeping Roman next to him. 

This is … this is  _ crazy _ . But, more than  _ anything _ … this was…

Moxley scoots closer as carefully as he could, grateful the mattress didn’t protest to his movements, and he contemplates if this is stupid or crazy or both as his arm hovers over Roman’s body before he thinks ‘fuck it’ and drapes it over his waist, sidling up close but not uncomfortably so. His skin prickles all over, already regretting it, scolding himself before he feels fingers between his and an arm pin his down against Roman’s stomach. Gulping a bit but breathing out through his nose in resignation, he rests his face against the back of Roman’s neck and presses his lips there. If anyone asks, it’s Roman’s hormones fucking with him again. 

(By ‘anyone’, that absolutely means Jon Moxley.) 

He'd worry about that later, but for now, he’s just happy to go back to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. i know the world is hella freaky right now, we're in the throes of a pandemic and people are unsure or scared. but i want to do my part as a creator on the internet and provide a kind of distraction for those that need it or want it. plus, i know a lot of people are in isolation, so let me assuage some of your panic with some good ol' romox goodness. 
> 
> if i may be so bold, allow me to ... ease your mind ... a little bit. (a bold hint for the next project. if you know it, kudos to you! if not, keep a look out in the tag and on tumblr!)
> 
> also IRISH ACCENTS ARE DIFFICULT BUT I'M PRETTY SURE IT'S OKAY LOL

_ A year passes... _

“Jon, t’anks so much fer lettin’ us use yer house fer the shower,” Finn comes in from the backyard into the kitchen, where Moxley was in the process of filling one of the coolers with ice for bottles of water. “With the drama wit’ the painters and the nursery not finished yet…”

“I already told ya, don’t worry about it,” Moxley stands up straight and faces his brother-in-law with a look of fond annoyance. “Bay can’t be around that shit and I’ve got the space now. Besides, this is the most I’ve gotten to see you two, so. I ain’t complainin’.”

The two Alphas share a grin with each other before Moxley kicks the cooler toward Finn. “Quit bein’ a sap and help me. Can’t just stand around doin’ nothin’.” 

Finn only flashes a toothy smile before picking it up and carrying it out to the backyard, where the rest of the baby shower guests were socializing. He can hear Bayley greet Finn with a warmth that makes his teeth ache, and although he thinks he hears her ask where he was - “ _ I thought you were gonna drag him out here to sit with me? _ ” - he’s a little preoccupied at the moment. 

His life had taken a turn he hadn’t expected, and maybe if he was the same guy he’d been, he’d have a problem with it. What had started out as him playing second to Callihan’s quest to acquire an Omega turned into something that no one who knew him could have ever planned for. Usually, he spent his days working around Alphas, spending his nights either at home or at some bar, screwing Betas and sometimes, as long as it wasn’t their heat, Omegas. He never cared to remember people’s names, nor did he enter any meaningful relationships with them. 

That was …  _ until _ …

He’s shaken out of his head, running down the list of shit he still had to do, capped off with trying to keep track of the guests that still hadn’t shown up, at the sound of the door opening and closing a little too loudly. Twitching at the sound, his head jerks up and the relief he feels is immediate - it could have been a fucking thief or crazy murderer - when he sees a covered pan of something that smells like tomato and herbs held by…

“I was beginnin’ to think we weren’t gonna have yer’ mom’s lasagna today.” 

A scoff, then, “You should know better than anybody that when it comes to matters of hungry people, a Reigns always supplies food.”

Moxley rolls his eyes with a shake of his head, but when Roman swoops in to kiss his cheek, he lets out a sigh and takes the offered pan and places it on the stove. It was still warm. “Bayley’s in the backyard if ya’ wanna see her. I’m not gon’ be much fun here.” 

Roman rolls his eyes. “I’ll pop in to see your sister, but then I’m gonna help you.” Moxley opens his mouth to argue, but Roman holds up a hand. “No buts. If we work together, it’ll be done much faster.” 

Sighing, he relents, and Moxley goes back to his mental checklist while Roman disappears outside. 

Roman’s heat had hit him like a freight train the second-ever time they’d met. And like a fool with a guilt-complex thanks to his being the only Alpha in his family, he had practically  _ made _ Roman stay with him until it was over. At first it had been a curse. Then, it turned into a blessing in disguise, and he didn’t really believe in that shit, at least not before. He couldn’t really say such a thing now. As far as relationships went … well, he’d never had one. Couldn’t say that either, now. 

He can see out the window as Roman bends down to greet Bayley, who reaches up to hug him from her chair. Finn’s sitting in a chair placed near her feet, which are perched on his lap. There’s a tightness in his chest when he sees the way Finn casually rubs at her feet, looks at her like she hung the sun in the sky, and he can hear Bayley’s excited ramblings about what the delivery company had gotten right of all the furniture they’d ordered. Moxley looks around at the picnic table past them and makes a tally of what all is out there, and all that was missing was the lasagna pan. 

After he finally comes outside, Roman’s mom’s lasagna in his hands, he can hear Bayley’s chattering turn to excited cheers. From that moment on, the baby shower goes on without a single hiccup, and honestly, Moxley is a little surprised. He’s been known to fuck things up without really doing anything, earning him a lot of issues with quite a lot of people, but he’d like to think that the world decided he could do with a little kindness…

* * *

Bed springs squeak and groan in time to Roman’s breathless sounds as he rides Moxley in the middle of the night, their hands interlocked above Moxley’s head as he tried not to pound with abandon into Roman; he’d never been someone who was picky about where his body fit when it came to sex, caring only about it feeling good, and that didn’t change when it came to being with Roman. Several things had stayed the same, of course, but some major things had changed, too, and it had been significantly less scary. 

Partnerships were far from his thing. So this, his relationship with Roman - his full,  _ amazing _ relationship - had been a step he’d been a little too afraid to dip his toe into at first. Screwing with no strings attached had been more his speed, but he figured out pretty soon after everything happened last year that it wasn’t so foreign to him as he might have thought. Turned out, he was love-starved, hadn’t even really loved himself for a long time, but  _ Roman _ …

‘But Roman’ was a pretty common divergence from his usual thoughts. 

He can feel his orgasm coming up on him like it was running straight for him, his vision tingling with static, and Roman’s hips have started stuttering in jagged rolls. If he doesn’t end this, he might explode, and Roman’s starting to get tired, his grip on Moxley’s fingers tight as he tries to urge his lungs to quit burning. 

“T-Take it easy, baby.” Moxley groans. “I got you.” 

Roman’s fingers release his - he tries not to mourn that too heavily - and he leans down on his elbows on Moxley’s pillow, fingers playing with his slightly-grown hair, little bangs getting caught in thick, shaking fingers. Their lips meet in a hot dance, Roman immediately letting him lick his way into his mouth, relinquishing that last shred of control he’d had and completely giving into Moxley’s ministrations. 

“ _ Jonnnnnnn _ ,” Roman moans as Moxley adjusts his legs, bending at the knees, feet planted on the mattress. “I-I’m gon-na…”

“I  _ know! _ ” 

When Moxley starts pounding into him, Roman’s mouth breaks from Moxley’s lips and is left hanging open, cheek leaning against cheek, hot breath fanning across a bare neck. There’s little finesse to this, he’d made Roman cum so many times, he knows what spots and angles and positions drive him wild and it’s no exception as he relentlessly hits Roman’s deepest place, sending jolts up his spine. 

His orgasm hits first, his hips twitching, and with a final deep thrust, Moxley follows. 

Their gasps fill the quiet air, and for a while, everything feels heavy; a heaviness that isn’t unwelcoming, with Roman laying on top of him, straddling his hips, their naked bodies slick with sweat and cum and flushed, hot. It won’t be long until their bodies cool off, so Moxley uses one arm to slide around the bed until he can grab the comforter. Throwing it over them, he wraps his other arm around his neck, no longer afraid to tilt his head down and see the blissed-out look on Roman’s face as he stares into the dark room. 

“Hey there. Let me know when yer’ ready to move.”

Roman nods, gets comfortable; proceeds to  _ not _ tell him anything of the sort, something that he learns after his chest stops heaving and his dick has softened. He’s almost asleep when Moxley decides to ruin his fun. 

“Hey. I … uh, I got a question. Don’t fall asleep yet.” 

With a sleepy groan, Roman tests their connection, and when he can slip off safely, he slides off and tucks himself into Moxley’s side. “I’m not asleep. Just getting warm.”

He chuckles low in his throat, moving his arm to rest beneath Roman’s head. Roman lifts his head up to accommodate the new position, resting lazy kisses on the swell of his bicep and up to his shoulder. 

“Careful, you. Know what happens when that mouth’a yours gets carried away.” 

Yet, despite the threat, Roman grins. Moxley sighs; the threat was an empty one anyway. 

“So, I’ve been thinkin’. Pretty soon, the painting’s gonna be over at Bay and Finn’s…”

“Yeah? That’s great.”

Moxley nods. “Uh huh. And I’m gonna be an empty nester. Got no one to bug me ‘til the kid’s born.”

Roman snorts. “Nice.” 

“So, I was  _ wondering _ if, maybe… you might wanna, y’know. Come. Uh, live with me.” 

It’s quiet for a very long few seconds until Roman leans up on his arm, eyes big, lips dark from kissing and biting parted slightly. His hair falls like an inky curtain around his face, his skin looking otherworldly from the moon shining in from the window. His eyes are glossy, too, and immediately Moxley leans up on an elbow. 

“You … don’t have to. Just, y’know. I don’t know how I’m gonna adjust to a house that doesn’t have an Omega barkin’ orders at me or askin’ me to rub their feet, or who makes really good Italian food.” 

“Sounds like you’re lookin’ for someone specific.” Roman’s voice has never sounded so airy, like his words are smoke. Moxley shrugs and tries to look as nonchalant as possible.

“Anybody could boss me around or make me food. I don’t want just anybody. Want someone who makes me happy.” 

Roman purses his lips. A shiny line slips down his cheek, a single tear rolling over his flushed face, and Moxley wipes it away with his thumb. 

“Whaddya say? Wanna move in with me, share some’a this space with me?” 

The force with which Roman collapses against Moxley’s chest in that moment, arm around his frame, head buried in his neck is enough of an answer to him, and he kisses his forehead with a couple of pecks, dragging the last one out as he breathes in deeply, the faded scent of coconut and sex filling his nose and the salty taste of their effort dancing on his tongue. He’s almost fallen asleep by the time he hears Roman whimper “ _ Yes _ ,” into his skin, but he hears it again when the sun rises and Roman kisses it against his lips, over and over until it feels like a tattoo on his soul. 

Jon Moxley was by no means an expert in love, but he might be willing to admit as he gazes at Roman sleeping next to him in  _ their _ bed in  _ his _ shirt that he might have known more than he thought he did.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr! i'm cookiethewriter!


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